"What'd he cut the other man with?"

"Wif a pitchfawk."

Penrod began to feel that a lifetime spent with this fascinating family
were all too short. The brothers, glowing with amiability, were as
enraptured as he. For the first time in their lives they moved in the
rich glamour of sensationalism. Herman was prodigal of gesture with his
right hand; and Verman, chuckling with delight, talked fluently,
though somewhat consciously. They cheerfully agreed to keep the
raccoon--already beginning to be mentioned as "our 'coon" by Penrod--in
Mr. Schofield's empty stable, and, when the animal had been chained to
the wall near the box of rats and supplied with a pan of fair water,
they assented to their new friend's suggestion (inspired by a fine
sense of the artistic harmonies) that the heretofore nameless pet be
christened Sherman, in honour of their deceased relative.

At this juncture was heard from the front yard the sound of that
yodelling which is the peculiar accomplishment of those whose voices
have not "changed." Penrod yodelled a response; and Mr. Samuel Williams
appeared, a large bundle under his arm.

"Yay, Penrod!" was his greeting, casual enough from without; but, having
entered, he stopped short and emitted a prodigious whistle. "YA-A-AY!"
he then shouted. "Look at the 'coon!"

"I guess you better say, 'Look at the 'coon!'" Penrod returned proudly.
"They's a good deal more'n him to look at, too. Talk some, Verman."
Verman complied.